“He had been wronged,” Jago thought. He ran his tongue over his lower gums where only six teeth remained. They had been left embedded within the table as a reminder to him of the consequence of theft. They remained to this day as a reminder of how violence would not be a common occurrence with his own son, Brendon-Kyle. “If you have a wrong done to you, and you do nothing in return, you are the second one to do wrong to yourself,” he heard echo through his head as the ball of his foot made contact with the floor. In one-step, and a few heartbeats, Jago's transformation was complete. He had found the secret of anger, his first taste of complete fury. He had become his father, and he liked how it felt. He was wronged and he would not wrong himself by doing nothing about it. By the time his back foot started to lift, he had committed himself. Coleena would pay for what she had done to him, after he had done nothing to her.
As his left foot reached the right one in its swing forward, the scowl he wore stayed, but he heard his own laughter billow out as he thought about how good for his soul this would be. He felt young again. It was invigorating to be floating in liquid fire on the inside. He felt power surging in his anger. Jago’s next stride brought him within inches of Coleena as she still sat in her chair. The long, black haired vixen had not moved a muscle. She seemed content enough just to watch his menacing approach towards her.
“Does she think me unable to strike a woman?” he asked himself as he wound his right arm in unison with his left foot hitting the floor. He put everything he had into that arm as he swung it around towards her. He saw his mother again, as she hit the floor many years ago. “That will be nothing compared to this,” he spat to himself as his fist neared her.
“I am feeling very hungry today Papa,” he spoke. “Thank you for the lesson learned.” With a half-snarl half-grin on his face, he closed his eyes as he drove his fist home.